So goes it

I have been in Richmond for about three weeks. I am missing The District quite horribly and everone who is aware of this assures me that I'm writing Richmond off far too quickly and that I should give it a chance. They are right, I know they are. It's just far more difficult to find something to do in the evenings than it is in DC.

Of course I'm not including parties, well, because that's not really my thing. I'm fine with everyone having a gay old time, but once the cocaine is out, I'm gone. People in this city are much more laid back than I am. I don't understand their lack-luster qualities. They like to consider themselves artists and work waiting tables. And afterward go to a house party. A house party? Really? I understand that people have them at all ages, but when you grow up their referred to as an "open house," a "get together," "a cookout," etc. They are not, however, referred to as "house parties."

House parties usually incorporate lots of underage kids getting smashed and then having irresponsible sex with each other, or going home alone wishing they were having irresponsible sex, though they refer to it as just sex.

I'm being too analytical. I know. I should probably be immersing myself in the college culture, but how many times have I said that I was born five years too late? Really people, I know I'm a snob, but I am so above this.

I'm not going to lie and say that I don't drink, because I do, occasionally, but never in excess, because I'm a control freak. I've had lots of people in my lifetime tell me to "loosen up." It has not happened. I have remained this very tight, judgmental person. It suits me very well thank you.

Drinking should be enjoyed, the end result isn't to get drunk as everyone on any campus would have you believe, it is to be tasted, not chugged. Though chugging is the only way anyone would be able to drink the cheap stuff they've got. It's gross. Natural Ice, or "Natty's" is probably the absolute worst thing I have ever tasted; how I would imagine piss tasting. And yet, they drink it, and it's siblings Budlight, Corona, etc.

Sex. We all know that college boys only care about getting laid, which is fine, whatever, it's expected, and that would be all fine and dandy if girls were programmed the same way. Some are, some aren't. Most aren't. And most are stupid. They dress up in their trashiest attire wanting to look "hot" - they set out wanting to attract these overly-hormonal boys and expect to be respected? That's idiotic, but because they are idiots, they will have sex with these guys and almost immediately regret it. Luckily my roommate isn't one of these idiots.

So, what will I be doing tonight? I've been invited to a couple parties, one of which is "lingerie/boxers/toga" themed. It does not sound exceptionally entertaining, and I'm going to go ahead an guess that the music will be horrendous. If this were going on in DC, at The Hotel, which it does, annually, except it's just "underwear" themed it would be full of somewhat responsible, despite being intoxicated adults.

I hate my peers. It's a problem I have, I'm well aware of it, and I should appreciate that they're "growing up" but I'd really much rather just skip that part. But since I'm going to be here for four years, I suppose I'll just have to dig deeper to find something worthwhile.

Like friends. I should make some. It's not that I haven't been trying. I've been pleasant to everyone I've met, but I haven't met anyone that has really struck my fancy. My roommate is cool, the RD in my building is cool -he's also thirty-two, this kid that sits next to me in economics is pretty cool (despite being a townie). So I'm trying, I really am, kind of, when I'm not wondering around on my bike or studying at Penny Lane's.

Despite my quasi-anti-social appearance the past few weeks. I have made an effort. I have been to information meetings regarding the school paper, magazine (non-literary, those people were weirder than they were in high school, of course I was ed-in-chief, so I'm biased, but still) and the radio-station. And for the first time ever I'm actually doing homework/studying, even if it interrupted by videos of Christopher Hitchens on YouTube.

In addition to all of this craziness I've managed to erase my entire music library from my Ipod. So now, I'm stuck listening to a bunch of mixed CD's (though the best mixes ever made) a friend made for me, the two CD's I've bought since coming here - Lykke Li, and Wolf Parade - the albums I have, but I need to get a preamp, and of course the internet. I've been listening to this song a lot and listening to Imeem.

I'm going to take a nap. SCHWING!

Trash, the good kind

Let it be known that I love horrible television. Not the Jerry Springer type of trash but the dramatic type of horror.

Since coming to school my roommate and I have made a habit of catching 'Project Runway' each way. And after the first week an very sad kind of doofy girl on our floor has started to join us. She talks throughout the whole show. And not just comments like "That's cute" or "What were they thinking!" Comments like "I really like this show, which season is this?" and she'll go on. And it's not just during the commercials, it's during the actual show. We just deal because we don't want to be mean. Crazy, I know.

So currently I"m watching 'Gossip Girl' and she has walked by several times, each of which she feels the need to comment on how much she likes this show. Luckily she's not actually watching it with me. Thank God.

We Are Scientists

The interview, my first - ever, I did with them is up at Brightest Young Things.

You should go read it. It's pretty awesome. As all (five) of you expect of me anyways.

Learning to ride a bike

Since the accident my only mode of transportation has been my beach cruiser that I've had since I was eleven. It is hunter green, and if I wasn't so lazy I would find a picture of it, or take one, to post.

I quite like riding my bike. I mean, I'm getting exercise, I'm going where I want to (for the most part), I'm not spending all my tips on gas, etc. The only part I don't love it the sweat. I'm okay with being sweaty, but not when I get to Borders or my chiropractic appointment, or work. Thankfully there are these things called "deodorant" and "body spray" that are small enough to carry with me everywhere. So, smelliness can generally be avoided.

Last week I rode from my house to Moe's on Hoadly Rd. I have no idea what that amounts to in miles. I didn't plan on going there, I was just in a bad mood and needed to clear my head (something I've needed to do a lot lately) and where I would usually go for a drive, I went for a ride. It was refreshing and wonderful. Yeah, it took about three times as long to get there as it usually would via car, but I felt awesome afterwards.

My biggest problem with not having a car at my constant disposal was the sense of freedom I thought I'd lost. But there's a completely different sense of independence that comes with riding a bike. It's all about you. You and the machine, but not a machine that your externally operating, a machine that you become a part of. You also become much more aware of your surroundings. I think I've developed a greater appreciation for my body. It's not something that I often think about. But, I have this awesome machine and when it's used, it can do anything. And then when you combine it with another machine, it's literally awe-some.

I wish we had bike lanes or more sidewalks, or wider shoulders, something. Lake Ridge is not very bike friendly. I've had quite a few people yell out of the SUV's for me to get off the road. But I'm not "in" the road. I'm on the shoulder, usually. I'm only in the right lane if there aren't any other options, and it's not like they can't see me. I mean, I'm not in their way, I'm not slowing them down. Perhaps if they knew what I know, they wouldn't be so quick to make an ass of themselves.

Today after my chiropractic appointment I dropped off some movies, went to the bank, and made a stop at our local bike shop. They are all in the same shopping center, how convenient! (so much more so than Manassas) And all within a ten minute bike ride away! I bought myself one of those obnoxious flashing lights, some lube and a rear-view mirror (to attach to my handlebar). I also ordered a basket for the back of my bike. I'm most excited about this. Hopefully it will mean less hauling junk in my backpack, or at least a lighter load.

Dude, if you don't have a bike, you should get one.

Up Against the Wall

I am in desperate need of a new journal, but I haven't found the right one yet and I'm poor and so I will write something not quite as personal here.

This week, most notably the past two days, has been a complete and utter mess. So what's a girl to do?

She calls the boy of her affection 2348394827 times, texts him just as much and listens as his friends ask her where he is. Only, she doesn't know, well she has an idea, but not one that she likes, and so she sulks - attempting to go unnoticed, but that is impossible. So she calls some more and no one picks up. Then said boy's friend asks for a ride. She obliges. She drops him off. She can't go home because she's not supposed to be here, but because her plans fell through she's desperate for a couch to crash on. On her way to said couch some idiot hits her in Adam's Morgan, but she can't help thinking that if she had been with said boy she wouldn't have been there or even have dropped off his friend, because she would have been with him. And then when she didn't go knock on his door she ended up at 18 and T in an SUV's way. She's not blaming said boy at all, she's simply thinking of all the ways, reasons, why that night went wrong. And she comes up with this - his complete incapability for using a telephone properly, the fact that he was drunk...and she knows she's over analyzing everything, each detail to the umpteenth degree, but at this point she's leaning against her car in a frequented intersection flipping the bird to each prick that drives by yelling out their window - And so she calls Couch to come pick her because that motherfucking idiot of a Georgia Peach didn't have sense to learn how to drive properly in the District and so her car is not drivable. So the tow-truck comes, she writes down all sorts of information, and thankfully has all the contact information of the wonderful witness - who saw the whole thing, but wasn't being obnoxious about it like that other dude who kept bugging the cops to let him write down what he saw. The car is towed away and she is all shaky and quiet, and completely calm when most people's reaction would be to flip out. She didn't. She didn't even tell that Georgia Peach how stupid she is, because by God, that Peach is a fucking twat. So Girl texts Affection and is further upset, and gives up, but knows that if he weren't passed out in bed (two blocks away) he would hold her and let her get mascara all over his Thomas Cook shirt, that he most undoubtedly would be wearing. So Couch takes her home - their home anyway - and she attempts to fall asleep. unfortunately prior to the smooshsmash she had begun to get a knot in her stomach, the kind that develops as a result of combining hunger, stress, and the ever-present ability to appear forlorn. This doesn't come completely on purpose, but it's not an accident either. She's going out of her way to rethink, and hope, and pray, that this most surreal of evenings was just a nightmare that she'll wake up from in the morning, and he will make her toast, and hand her a glass of cranberry juice, and everything else he does that for some reason despite his idiocracy make sher smile. But that doesn't happen. She shits and crys, on and off for the next five hours. How is it that most people, when they get sick to their stomach, they expel their anxiety through their mouth and she through her ass? And eventually her eyes hurt to much to keep them open, but not enough to close, and she calls that insurance agent and tells the Nice Lady what a horrible evening she had. And that Nice Lady, notes the quivering of her voice and takes a pause and asks if she's okay. And of course they both know she isn't but she says yeah, I'm fine anyway. Couch is still asleep and Affection is not going to respond to her text because he has no idea where his phone is. Eventually Couch wakes up and they get breakfast, a slow, tasteless one served by newly immigrated Ethiopians. And then they drive around in search of the lot with her car in it hoping to have it towed to a garage, but that doesn't happen and won't until Monday. So they go back to Couch's house and she gets her stuff and is dropped off at the Metro, and her parents will come to pick her up in Springfield. But she doesn't go straight there, she gets off at Dupont and walks the four or five blocks uphill to Affection's building. The lady at the desk is unable to reach him to let her up, but lets her anyway because she recognizes her. And when she reaches his door, there's a long pause between the elevator doors closing and her knuckles beating the old door. He answers, uses the bathroom and then joins her on his couch. They don't touch. Or sit next to each other. The silence infiltrates the tired morning walls, until finally they speak. Very little is to be said. He knows exactly what he did, there is no need for her to explain what an arse he is, he knows, and he knows well. And she still wants to be the girl on his arm, if only one uninterrupted, one unshared night a week. They agree that she is not being unreasonable, but she can't stay, she has to get back to the train. And he offers to drive her instead. Do you want to? Yes. And so he does. And little is said, and they attempt to be cheery, it works, slightly. They are both still walking on wobbly legs, but with time will stand up and this will all be behind them. This is one of those "bigger" things that he had told her would come up. He knows it's much bigger than he had anticipated. And he's thinking of how stupid he is, and what if she hadn't been able to reach anyone? What if it had been more serious? They keep these thoughts to themselves. Do you love me? Yes. Really? Yes. And he drops her off. Now give me a kiss. (she turns her cheek) You know, I love you, you make me mad, but I love you. And with that she shuts the door and walks down the stairwell to where her parents are waiting. They don't know any of this, just that Couch doesn't live with girls and that people should be in bed early in the morning. And when she gets home, still shaken and not quite awake to reality, she changes out of the previous night's clothes and goes for a ride to clear her head, and she listens to this song on repeat. Somehow it suits perfectly, maybe a bit uncannily so.